


That Is Not Dead Which Can Eternal Lie

by DelphiPsmith



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works
Genre: Cult of Cthulhu, Dark Magic, Department of Mysteries, F/M, Family History, HP: EWE, Lovecraftian, Mystery, Post - Deathly Hallows, Redemption, Sheep & Goats, house-elves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelphiPsmith/pseuds/DelphiPsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the end of the war, Malfoy Manor is suffering from a peculiar infestation and Unspeakable Granger is assigned to the case.  Much has changed at the Manor, but thousands of years of Malfoy heritage cannot be lightly disregarded.  Originally written for <a href="http://lm-hgficxchange.livejournal.com">lm-hgficxchange</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Is Not Dead Which Can Eternal Lie

**Author's Note:**

> As with the Oscars, I have a few people to thank, in increasing order of importance: Tufts University for their [amazing online Latin resources](http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.04.0059%3Aentry%3Dpraeses) (any inaccurate declensions are purely mine own); H.P. Lovecraft for the title and certain plot elements; the mods for their excessive patience (bless you!); my invaluable and incredibly speedy betas [nursedarry](http://nursedarry.livejournal.com), [anna_bird](http://%22anna-bird.livejournal.com%22), [ennyousai](http://ennyousai.livejournal.com); and finally [laurielover1912](http://laurielover1912.livejournal.com) for a fantabulous prompt that set the plot bunnies madly whirring -- I hope the final result meets with your approval.

When the great bell signifying that someone stood at the front door of Malfoy Manor sounded, Lucius had just sat down in the deep wing chair before the fireplace, the _Daily Prophet_ on his lap and a glass of well-aged Firewhisky at his elbow. He sighed, wondering what perverse mechanism of the universe it was that always seemed to interrupt his most cherished moments. He had not been out of Azkaban so long that he took a quiet pleasant moment alone for granted.

Nevertheless, the visitor was expected and, given the circumstances, Lucius was not inclined to keep him waiting on the doorstep. Or her, he supposed -- the letter from the Department of Mysteries had simply stated that "one of their best agents, a highly qualified Unspeakable" would be calling on him, without specifying a name. 

The giant wolfhound at his feet sat up attentively as Lucius rose, but at a brief word of command, lay back down obediently. Lucius went down the hall, crossed the stone-floored foyer to the door and opened it.

"You," he said, with raised eyebrows and sinking stomach. "I should have known."

\--++ooOOoo++--

"I don't want this job," Hermione said.

"You know how the system works," Alex Vervain said mildly. "You're next up in rotation; you take whatever assignment comes in."

Hermione crossed her arms and tapped her foot in irritation. "You know how hard it is to investigate something like this, Alex. And you know it's twice as hard when the people involved are uncooperative."

"What makes you think Lucius Malfoy will be uncooperative?" He laid his hand on a sheaf of closely-written parchment that lay on the desk before him. "The incident that he describes in his request sounds highly annoying, and its frequency and unpleasantness are increasing. I'm sure he's anxious to have the problem resolved."

Hermione knew Alex was right but somehow it made her no less annoyed, or more compliant. "He doesn't like me," she pointed out. "He might not even let me in the door." She felt a flicker of hope. If Malfoy threw her off the Manor grounds Alex would have no choice but to assign someone else.

"Malfoy doesn't like anyone at the moment," Alex laughed. "But he's always wanted the best in everything and you're the best, so he can hardly complain."

Hermione scowled. Vervain had been her superior since she joined the department five years earlier and knew all her weaknesses; playing on her pride and confidence in her abilities was an underhanded trick. "What's the problem?"

Instead of answering, Alex handed her the top sheet of parchment. She glanced at the date -- 9 April, three weeks ago -- and scanned its contents.

> _Dear Sirs --_
> 
> _I am writing to request your assistance on a matter of some urgency. Recently a new room has appeared in the northeast corner of the second floor of Malfoy Manor and has become populated with a succession of noisome and offensive creatures, namely a small goat and several of its offspring. Repeated efforts to permanently eject them from the premises have proven unsuccessful._
> 
> _Under normal circumstances I would quickly resolve the issue through my own powers (which are considerable)..._

Pompous git, Hermione thought.

> _...however, as you know, the terms of my release from Azkaban severely limit my use of magic. I am therefore compelled to call upon your second-rate, but I trust adequate, assistance._
> 
> _Awaiting your prompt reply, I am, as always --_
> 
> _Lucius Malfoy_
> 
> _N.B. Do not under any circumstances send Weasley or Potter. Weasley would no doubt set fire to the curtains and Potter's face irritates me beyond belief. I don't care how capable you think they are, I won't have them on the premises._

Although she knew it was disloyal, Hermione couldn't help the snicker that escaped her at Lucius' assessment of Ron's skills. Ron had won his place in Auror training on his own merits (despite unkind rumors that Harry had threatened to decline his own appointment unless Ron was also admitted), and he was in fact doing extremely well. He had a surprising talent for the more physical aspects of the job and a considerable skill at offensive charms. Unfortunately, during his first training term he had cast an ill-timed Incendio which had nearly burned the combat practice room to the ground. Memories of the incident, like the charred odor in the classroom, still lingered.

"It does sound interesting," she admitted. "Though I can't think of anyone who deservers an infestation of goats more than Lucius Malfoy. But --"

Alex fixed her with a penetrating gaze. "I know you have unpleasant memories of Malfoy Manor, to say the least. But as an Unspeakable, you'll encounter plenty of situations over your career that carry unpleasant echoes and --"

"I'm perfectly capable of dealing with anything of the sort," she interrupted, vexed at the implied slur on her professionalism.

"Excellent, that's settled then." Alex glanced at his watch. "Malfoy's expecting you at five. You've just got time to pop home and pack. I imagine you'll need to stay a few days to get to the bottom of it."

"Oh, all right," she said grudgingly. "But if he sets those stupid wolfhounds on me, the Department is footing the veterinary bills." She scooped up the stack of parchment and stalked out of the office.

Thirty minutes later Hermione Apparated just outside the manor grounds. As she expected, the great iron gates were tightly closed and she could easily perceive the intricate wards that bound them shut, requiring a Malfoy (or at least a Malfoy house-elf) to grant admittance. 

Curious, she took out her wand, whispered " _Exprome praeses_ ," and made a quick gesture. Slender threads of light glowed into life, their lines twisted thickly about the gates and tendrils extending along the high stone walls to left and right and even up into the air. Most were emerald green, but Hermione saw also coppery-gold, pale rose, a range of blues from sky to midnight, amber, violet, silver-white and more, woven into a web of power and beauty which she couldn't help but admire. This was some seriously complex ward-work, some of it centuries old. Silently she named the various offensive and defensive spells as she identified them, then paused in puzzlement. Winding between and beneath the others was a ward she had never seen before: a strange indeterminate colour that hovered on the edge of visibility and made her eyes ache when she tried to focus on it. _What in Merlin's name is that?_ she wondered. 

The threads thickened and brightened for a few seconds longer and then faded from sight. In time with their disappearance, a house-elf appeared on the other side of the iron gates.

"Mistress is the Unspeakable?" he inquired. Like most house-elves his age was indeterminate, but his tea-towel garment was pure white, spotlessly clean and edged with embroidered flowers. 

Hermione surveyed the elf carefully. "At least he's dressing you better," she said. "And you don't appear to have ironed your hands lately."

"Rolly is not understanding Mistress," the house-elf said haughtily. "The noble house of Malfoy is always treating its house-elves with respect."

Hermione snorted. "That'll be a first." 

The house-elf gazed at her with obvious disapproval. "Mistress will please be showing her Department of Mysteries identification to the gargoyle." He gestured to the fanged and clawed sculpture that crouched above the gates.

"And it's not Mistress, it's Hermione Granger," she added, reaching into the pocket of her robes for her DoM card.

"Mistress is a guest of the house of Malfoy," Rolly said firmly. "Mistress is to be addressed accordingly."

Hermione sighed. "Oh, all right." She found the small card that identified her as an Unspeakable, with all the powers and responsibilities accruing thereto, and held it out for the inspection of the gargoyle. The stone creature made no movement or sign of recognition, but the heavy gates swung silently open. She stepped through and felt the wards snap back into place behind her so sharply that she wondered if they had trimmed the back of her hair.

Pushing aside the dark memories of her last "visit" to the Manor, Hermione squared her shoulders and strode purposefully down the long graveled walk to the front door. Tall trees shaded the way and in the twilight their branches seemed hung with shadows like Spanish moss. As she neared the house itself she could sense a second set of wards embedded in the walls. The carved door bore a massive and ornate M in beaten silver; there was no knocker, but as she stepped on the square flagstone she heard a low, sonorous tone ring somewhere in the house. 

A few moments later the door opened and to her surprise, instead of the house-elf she had expected, she saw the master of the house himself. He was dressed in his habitual black robes, open over a white silk shirt and black trousers tucked into high black boots. His hair was tied back with a black ribbon, and his face wore its usual expression of condescension and distaste.

Defeat, disgrace and Azkaban don't seem to have hurt his looks any, Hermione thought in annoyance. It had been too much to expect that Lucius Malfoy would be anything remotely resembling humbled, but a visible scar or two, or perhaps lasting damage to his hair, would have been immensely gratifying.

He raised an eyebrow. "You," he said. "I should have known."

"It's nice to see you, too," she said, suppressing a surge of irritation. _Merlin save us, I hope I can get through this without hexing him into next week._

\--++ooOOoo++--

As he led the witch down the hall, Lucius silently damned himself for not including Hermione Granger in the list of Ministry employees he didn't want assigned to this case. As if the situation weren't unpleasant enough --

"I was surprised not to see my name on your list of _persona non grata_ along with Ron and Harry," she said, as though reading his mind.

He halted and turned to face her. "I had no idea you were an Unspeakable, Miss Granger," he said coldly, "or rest assured your name would have headed the list."

"Believe me, I tried to get out of this assignment," she retorted. "But you asked for the Department's best, Mr Malfoy. That happens to be me."

It occurred to Lucius, belatedly, that she must be a very good witch indeed to have earned a place in that select company. Given her Muggle heritage, he'd always assumed all that "brightest witch of her age" praise to be nothing more than Dumbledore's favoritism, but perhaps there was something to it after all. And those goats really had to go.

He cleared his throat and inclined his head slightly. "I apologise, Miss Granger. Let us begin again."

Her eyes narrowed at his sudden change of tone. "I expect to be treated with the respect due my professional status."

"Of course." He gestured her to precede him into the sitting room. "Please, do sit down." 

She turned and went through the doorway, crossing the room to the other chair -- a match to his own but on the other side of the small rosewood table. Her hair was as thick as ever, he noticed, but she'd tamed it into a wide plait down her back whose coils glinted with coppery highlights.

"Rolly, please bring a Firewhisky for Miss Granger," Lucius said as he sat down and picked up his own. Rolly delivered the drink with a small bow and Lucius raised his glass towards her. "Let us have a toast to the beginning of our efforts."

She raised hers. "And to their rapid conclusion," she added tartly.

For the first time in months Lucius felt a spark of interest and amusement. He prided himself on his ability to spot fear in others -- it was a skill honed under the most proficient of tutors, after all, and he had been highly motivated to learn -- but there was no fear in Hermione Granger at all. That she could come here and face him, in a place that must hold such terrifying memories for her, was impressive. 

Being impressed was also a novel experience, and Lucius found he rather enjoyed it. 

He nodded in acquiescence. "As you say," he agreed. "Though perhaps it will prove a less onerous task than we expect." He touched the rim of his glass to hers, and they both took a sip of the fiery liquid.

"I thought you weren't permitted to do complex magic," she said, after a few moments of silence. "Those wards on the gate and the door -- I've never seen anything like them."

"Oh, the wards are not mine," Lucius said. The wolfhound butted its head against his boot and he reached down absently to scratch behind its ears. "I had no part in their creation, though of course they obey my orders to admit or deny entrance to anyone I choose."

"You let someone else set your wards? My, my, how the mighty have fallen," she said, leaning back in the chair.

Her mockery stung him. "Don't be deliberately obtuse," he said. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his reassessment of her intelligence. "Of course I didn't. The wards belong to the house."

She frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

He waved a hand negligently. "It's unimportant." He had no intention of baring the secrets of Malfoy Manor to anyone outside the family, let alone to her, of all people. "Let us discuss the reason you are here."

"Yes, I understand you have goats," she said. "That must be distressing." She took a sip of her Firewhisky. "Particularly since they're not even magical goats, just plain, ordinary, Muggle goats."

"Indeed," he said, ignoring her pointed remarks. He had had enough of being baited in his own home to last several lifetimes. "I have no objection to goats in their proper place, but a third floor bedroom hardly qualifies. You have read Callendar's reports?"

"Not yet."

"He's an incompetent ass. Since he was here, things have become more ominous."

"Callendar is a careful and thorough investigator, but perhaps not a penetrating thinker," she allowed. "I brought his reports with me and I'm sure they'll give me a good background. I thought I'd review them tonight and then start work in the morning, if that sounds suitable."

"Eminently. Shall I have Rolly show you to your room? You can review them now, and then if you have any questions we can discuss them over dinner."

He caught a flicker of emotion on her face that he couldn't identify -- surely not disappointment? -- but when she spoke her voice was perfectly polite. "Thank you, Mr Malfoy. I should like that."

\--++ooOOoo++--

The room to which Rolly showed her was like a jewel-box, Hermione thought, or something from an illuminated manuscript: tiny, brightly coloured and perfect in every detail. A cheerful blaze in the small corner fireplace ("which Master has ordered connected to the Floo Network, so that Hermione Granger may make Floo calls to anyone at all that she wishes") made dancing shadows on the paneled walls. Against one wall was a carved wooden desk with a bright lamp and a cushioned chair pulled out invitingly. An intricately-patterned carpet in shades of blue and green covered oak flooring so highly-polished that she could see her reflection, while on either side of a bed piled high with pillows and coverlets, open windows let in warm spring air and the scent of lilacs. 

Hermione dropped her bag on the floor beside the desk and stretched, hearing her spine crack. The Firewhisky on an empty stomach had made her a bit dizzy, and her mind kept returning to the peculiar wards and Lucius' reluctance to answer her questions about them.

"Is Hermione Granger needing anything?" the elf said. "Perhaps she is wanting wine or chocolates? Or tea?"

"No, this is lovely, Rolly, thank you. Except..." She hesitated, and Rolly looked at her expectantly. It really was none of her business, but she was burning with curiosity. "Rolly, you said that the Malfoys treat their house-elves with respect."

Rolly bowed. "Yes indeed, Miss."

She bit her lip. She had to tread carefully. If she didn't ask the question just right, she might force Rolly to say something bad about Lucius, and then he'd have to punish himself. "Do you know Dobby?"

Rolly's face became very sad. "Oh yes! All house-elves is knowing Dobby, Miss. Especially here, because we is sorry that Dobby was here before, and was treated so badly." He blinked at her solemnly.

Hermione frowned. A house-elf had just spoken ill of the family he served, and yet was making no move to punish himself. This was puzzling. "What do you mean, he was here before?"

"Before Master changed things, Miss. When he came back from being away, after Master Draco and Madame Narcissa left, Master is offering clothes to all of us."

Hermione sat down on the desk chair with a thump. Lucius Malfoy? Freeing his house elves?? Impossible. "What? Why?"

Rolly shrugged. "We is not knowing, Miss. Many takes the clothes and goes, but before they leave, they is saying things to Master. Things that they could never say before without having to punish theirselves, and Master is saying nothing, just listening." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "They is right to say these things, Miss. Things was not right before. But some of us is watching and listening, and we is thinking that Master is needing us now and that it is not right for him to be alone. So we is staying." He grinned proudly. "And Master is telling us that his most important order for us is now that we should always be telling him the truth, Miss, and most particularly that if we ever wants clothes we has only to ask!"

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. "This is true, Rolly? Really true?"

The elf put his hands on his hips. "Is Hermione Granger not listening?" he said crossly. "All house-elves tell the truth here. We is very proud to do so." He bowed. "Rolly will be back at eight o'clock." And with a *pop* he was gone.

Hermione sat staring at nothing. The spinning in her mind before was nothing compared to the whirling in it now. Lucius Malfoy? Giving his house-elves orders to tell the truth, and having a standing permission for any who wished to leave at any time? She felt more at sea than she ever had in her life.

Well, whatever the mystery was, maybe she could find out at dinner. Meanwhile, she still had a job to do. She had an hour free, so she might as well review the records from the Aurors' initial attempt to solve Lucius' problem. 

She pulled from her bag the stack of parchment Alex had given her and set it on the desk. Lucius' letter lay on top and she paused for moment to skim it again with fresh eyes, wondering if its tone of overt hauteur was simply a protective reflex. It couldn't be easy to face people who knew what he'd done, particularly if he'd sprouted a conscience. Her eyes fell on the words "Weasley would no doubt set fire to the curtains" and she stifled a giggle. No, she was pretty sure that dislike was genuine.

She flipped through the next few sheets. The Department had respected Lucius' "request" regarding Harry and Ron (no doubt his lavish donations towards the repair and renovation of the practice rooms had soothed any ruffled feathers) and sent Auror Callendar. 

Callendar's report took up almost thirty sheets of parchment, and Hermione went through them all attentively. Upon his arrival he had observed four goats in the room, a nanny and three kids. He had begun by identifying the species of goat ( _Capra aegagrus hircus_ , subspecies _pygmy_ ) and genetically sampling them (completely normal). All of this was documented by charts and photographs, carefully labeled in Callendar's tiny, neat hand.

He had then turned to exploring their persistence. He and Rolly ("despite the insistence of complainant L.M. that this was pointless and had been tried numerous times before") carried the three kids out of the room, down the stairs, and out to a hastily-constructed pen in the back corner of the garden.

By the time they returned to the room, three more kids had appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Callendar returned to the pen to verify that the original three were still there, which they were. He now had a total of six kids.

Next they carried the nanny goat out of the room and down to the pen. The mother disappeared from the pen and reappeared in the room.

Repeated experiments with manual removal confirmed his initial findings: the nanny goat always disappeared from the pen and reappeared in the room, while the kids remained in the pen and were replaced in the room by new ones. 

Callendar then elaborated at length -- GREAT length -- on the various physical and magical removal methods he had attempted. Physical methods included carrying, pulling, shoving, tempting with clover to induce voluntarily departure (which failed), and placing on a small wagon and transporting. Magical methods included levitation, _Filipendo_ , _Evanesco_ , and Side-Along Apparition (which apparently caused the goat in question to vomit copiously on Lucius' prized Bokhara carpet).

Reading between the lines, Hermione could sense Callendar's increasing desperation. The numerous tests resulted in a substantial number of kids penned in the back garden, which apparently had irritated Lucius no end. She grinned as she thought of the small, nervous Auror having to admit failure to Lucius Malfoy. She could picture just how Lucius would have looked, cold grey eyes staring down that patrician nose.

A final brief note in another hand told her that since Callendar's visit, inexplicable shadows had begun gathering in the corners of the room, shadows that no light would dispel and which, when looked at too closely, seemed to move.

Callendar was thorough but completely unimaginative. It was obvious to Hermione that the perfectly normal goats were not the issue. Their inexplicable (re)appearance in a room whose own appearance was likewise inexplicable pointed clearly to a connection with the house itself. Hermione couldn't imagine what it was, but she was confident she'd be able to figure it out.

After all, that was why she had joined the Department of Mysteries: to imagine the unimaginable, test the untestable, solve the unsolvable. And besides, there was no way she was going to give Lucius Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her fail.

She realized she was looking forward to dinner with a good deal of anticipation.

\--++ooOOoo++--

Lucius stood by the French doors leading out to a small stone-paved sitting area in the garden. The roses -- Narcissa's roses -- were not yet in bloom, of course, but lilacs spilled over the low stone walls like white and purple waterfalls, their light sweet scent the essence of spring. A perfect evening, he thought, really quite --

A chorus of baaaaaa's floated down from the second floor, and Lucius gritted his teeth. "Merlin roast those thrice-damned things!" he muttered.

"I'm sorry, did you say we're having roast goat for dinner?"

He turned abruptly, annoyed at having been caught in a display of temper. "Good evening, Miss Granger." The fact that she looked quite lovely, and not at all like the bushy-haired child he remembered, modified his annoyance into something else which he firmly refused to identify. "I trust your room is satisfactory? I'm sure it's not as...cozy...as the Burrow, but I hope it will suffice."

She flushed but met his challenge squarely. "Like everything else here, Mr Malfoy, it's beautiful -- but a bit cold for my taste," she said pointedly.

His lips quirked in amusement. "Having blooded our weapons, shall we call pax? I would hate to spoil good food and wine with insults."

"It would be a shame for the house-elves' efforts to go to waste," she agreed. Her voice remained stern but he was quite sure there was an extra sparkle in her eyes. True wit was a rare thing; she couldn't have had many opportunities to exercise it with Weasley and Potter.

They sat at a small table near the lilacs. The spring night was cool but an outdoor hearth warmed the air around them to a pleasant temperature. "Wine?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you."

It was a particularly fine bottle and Lucius was gratified when Hermione commented appreciatively on it. Its bright, citrusy tang was an ideal accompaniment to the simple yet elegant meal: roast chicken with rosemary and lemon, tiny sweet peas, angel-hair pasta in a white wine, herb and butter sauce. Conversation was surprisingly easy as they ate. She seemed to sense his unspoken desire to keep to small talk and avoid any potentially sensitive subjects.

The elves cleared the empty plates away and replaced them with a platter of assorted cheeses, a small dish of chocolates and two glasses of Firewhisky. Lucius took an appreciative sip. "You haven't mentioned Callendar's efforts," he observed. "Are you being tactful, or did his idiocy simply leave you speechless?"

Hermione laughed. "He's very thorough, no doubt about that. I do have some questions, though. I hope you'll answer them honestly."

"I will answer whatever I can," he said cautiously. He knew the risk of blind promises all too well. 

"Tell me about the wards. You said you didn't create them, that they belonged to the house. What did you mean?"

"They are a part of the Manor. The Manor maintains them," he answered.

"Independently? With no renewal, nothing in place to keep them going?" she said skeptically.

"When I say the wards belong to the house, I mean it literally," he said. "They are part of it, the way your bones and your skin are part of you. The house...grew them."

Her eyes widened. "Spontaneously? I've never heard of such a thing."

"This is a very old house, Miss Granger. Very old." He sipped thoughtfully, wondering how much to tell her. Oh yes, the war was over, but old habits of secrecy and self-preservation died hard. They were entering upon ground he was reluctant to tread. "I cannot see what bearing this has on the goats."

She leaned forward. "A new -- or maybe old -- room has appeared in your house. You're unable to evict its tenants, despite their non-magical nature. That suggests I'm going to need to know as much as possible about this house and its history. If you hold back information, it will make it that much harder for me to do my job. Which I think we both want done as quickly as possible," she added.

She was right, of course. "Very well. First you must understand that there has been a Malfoy house on this site for almost a thousand years, though its form has changed over the years."

"What do you mean, its form has changed? Wait a minute, I should take some notes." she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a quill and a sheaf of parchment, pushed the glass of Firewhisky aside to make room on the little table, conjured a quick _Lumos_ , and looked up at him expectantly. "All right, go ahead."

Lucius leaned back and steepled his fingers. "As I said, there has been a Malfoy home in this place, on this land, for nearly a thousand years. The first Malfoy came from Normandy with William the Conqueror in 1066 and was given the land here in return for his service."

Hermione paused in her writing. "Your family fought for a Muggle?" she said. Her tone showed clearly that she found this more than a little amusing.

"Yes," he said shortly. This was one of the facts he would have preferred not to share, but it couldn't be helped. Merlin knew what the goats might lead to next, and those writhing shadows... "This was six hundred years before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, remember. There was a good deal more interaction between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world then."

"And ambition has always been a Malfoy trait?" Hermione suggested sweetly.

He shrugged. "Ambition is one among many useful motivations. I do not apologise for mine, though obviously I regret not choosing a better vehicle for it. The important point is that Benedic Malfoy specifically asked for this site. His journals --"

"You have family journals going back a thousand years?" Her voice rose in excitement. "Can I--"

"Miss Granger, if you continue to interrupt, this story will take considerably longer than it should." He swallowed the last of his Firewhisky. Her glass was empty too, he noticed. "Rolly, would you bring us another Firewhisky, please?" She made no objection and he found himself unreasonably pleased by this. It had been a long time since he had shared dinner and drinks with a young woman. A beautiful young woman, he amended, looking at the curve of her cheek, the golden-red glow in her hair where the fire shone through it. But surely that was the Firewhisky talking...

She looked up and caught him watching her. For a moment he could not move, warm brown eyes holding him motionless as a _Petrificus totalis_. He cleared his throat and looked away. 

"Benedic Malfoy specifically asked for this site," he went on, hearing the scratching of her quill resume, "because it is situated over a series of natural caverns. The story he gave King William was that he intended to use them as wine cellars, and he did in fact become known as a fine vintner. His journals also state plainly that more than one of his enemies ended up there -- or rather, ended there. But Benedic was a powerful wizard and his journals hint at something else."

Hermione looked up sharply. "The Dark Arts."

He nodded. "They were not of course called so then. They were simply tools that many witches and wizards used at need. It was a simpler, less morally complex time."

"What a shame you missed it," she said tartly. "It sounds perfect for you. What was the morally uncomplicated Benedic doing?"

"No one knows exactly," he admitted. "As I said, his journal only hints. But if he was indeed working in the Dark Arts, he was wise to keep it hidden. Even then wizardkind knew enough not to flaunt their powers. Whether the neighboring Muggles feared them or sought their assistance, the end result was likely to be the same: inconvenience and danger, sometimes mortal danger. Caves where he could experiment without arousing suspicion would have been highly valuable."

She nodded. "So the house was built over the caves, and the wards just appeared out of nowhere?"

He shook his head. "Not quite. The initial wards were put in place by Benedic during the construction of the original house, which was of course much smaller than what you see today. But he improved them substantially about thirty-five years later, in 1100, shortly after he returned from the First Crusade. He refused to divulge the nature of his improvements and his journals are silent on the subject, but family legend held that he used something he learned or found while he was in the East. When Benedic died, his son Etienne was surprised to find that the wards persisted."

"What do you mean persisted?"

"I mean that they did not fade away. They remained in force, as strong as the day they were cast." Lucius stared thoughtfully into the fire. Even after all these years he could still recall the thrill he had felt as a child when he heard the story for the first time, the pride in his ancestor who had achieved the seemingly impossible. This was also, of course, another of the facts he had not wished to disclose. By long tradition, this knowledge had been jealously guarded down the long years and not shared outside the family.

Hermione laid down her quill. "That's impossible," she said flatly. "Wards fade when the person who cast them dies. That's why the wards at Hogwarts are set by so many different people, so there will always be protection in place."

"Normally, yes. In this case, however, they did not, and Etienne was unable to remove them. Uneasy at being guarded by wards he did not fully understand --"

"Bloody hell, I would be too," Hermione muttered, her quill scratching away feverishly.

"-- Etienne attempted to weave wards of his own creation into them, hoping that would give him the leverage to break his father's. This too failed, but his journal notes that as the years passed he did in fact begin to recognize elements of his own magic in the wards. They were somehow absorbing his essence, growing and changing in response to his own magical growth and work."

"And when he died, the same thing happened to his son? And so on?" Hermione guessed.

Lucius nodded. "Naturally the house has been renovated, expanded, altered, rebuilt over the centuries, but each time the wards have moved and changed and grown with it. And every Malfoy for the last ten centuries has seen the wards respond to him, seen his own signature slowly appear and spread through the web that has protected us for so long." Lucius was silent for a long moment, remembering his father Abraxas pointing out each thread one by one, naming the ancestor whose magic lived on in it, generation after generation. He recalled the night he himself had done the same with Draco (whose signature reproached him now each time he glimpsed it in the wards). "It is a remarkable sensation," he said finally, "as though one's roots go as deep as those of the World Ash Tree. I believe it would be literally impossible for anyone to break the wards that guard this house."

"That's why Voldemort chose Malfoy Manor as his headquarters, isn't it?" Hermione said softly. "And why he kept you alive. You were his key to the fortress. You and Draco."

Lucius took a swift swallow of Firewhisky, hoping that the burning would kill the taste of ashes in his mouth. And there was the third thing he had not wanted her to know. "Yes. I let him in. Through my doing -- my ambition, my foolishness -- my family's inviolable refuge became a prison defiled by a madman. "

He stood up abruptly. He didn't look at the witch in the chair across from him. For some reason he did not want to know what he might see in her eyes. "Rolly will show you to your room. Goodnight, Miss Granger."

He left the room without a backward glance.

\--++ooOOoo++--

When Hermione, led by Rolly, reached her room she saw that the fire was lit and the bed was turned down invitingly. A carafe of water and a glass stood on the table beside the bed. "Thank you, Rolly," she said. "Please tell the kitchen elves it was a lovely dinner."

Rolly bowed. "I will be telling them, Mistress. They will be pleased to know."

She sat down on the edge of the bed and began to strip off her shoes and socks. "I especially enjoyed sitting outside. The gardens really are lovely."

"That is Master's special orders, to eat outside, Mistress," Rolly said matter-of-factly. "He is worrying that you should not be having to see the dining room again, not when it is being full of such bad memories for you."

She dropped her shoe and stared at the elf open-mouthed, as though he'd said fire was cold or water could burn. "Impossible."

"All house-elves here are telling the truth," he reminded her, then added politely, "Of course that does not mean Mistress is having to believe it." He turned to the door. "Breakfast at nine o'clock," he said and vanished.

Hermione sat still for a long moment. She couldn't decide which was more peculiar: the strange history of the house, or the equally inexplicable behavior of its owner. Freeing house-elves? Considering anyone's feelings other than his own? She felt suddenly very tired. She had known it would be challenging to face this man, in this place, and so it was -- but in a different way than she had expected. 

When she finally climbed into the bed (which was as luxuriously comfortable as it appeared, with flannel sheets and a quilted down duvet) it was a long time before she fell asleep, and her dreams were filled with the silky white of arctic foxes and snowy owls and moonlight.

***

Despite her restless night Hermione woke early. She brushed out and re-plaited her hair then washed and dressed, taking rather a longer time than usual to choose her clothing before deciding to forego dress robes -- she wasn't in the office, after all -- and settling on a black skirt and a dark-green soft wool jumper. Rolly appeared promptly at nine with a tray of pastries and fruit and a pot of tea, and after devouring two dizzyingly delicious croissants with raspberry jam washed down with several cups of steaming tea, she felt ready to face the day.

"What would Hermione Granger like to see first this morning?" asked the elf. "Master has said that she is being free to go anywhere and see anything."

Having free run of Malfoy Manor certainly made her job easier, which (she told herself firmly) was the only possible reason for the sense of pleasure she felt at the elf's words. "I'd like to see the room first, please, and then I think the library."

She could smell the goats long before they reached the room, a pungent barnyard aroma distinctly out of place in the carpeted, wood-paneled hallway. The room itself was small but bright with two large windows open to the morning air, apart from the clots of shadow hanging in the corners. The furniture had been removed and the goats -- a nanny and three kids -- munched contentedly on a pile of hay and alfalfa in the center of the floor, turning their slotted golden eyes on Hermione and Rolly in the doorway. Eyes which seemed to Hermione disturbingly sentient and knowing.

"I see the door is left open -- do they ever wander out?" she asked.

"No." Hermione turned with a start to see Lucius standing close behind her. He wore his usual black, but he too had left off robes in favor of more casual trousers and shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sunlight picked out a subtle knotwork pattern woven into the cloth of the shirt, and Hermione caught the faint spicy scent of bay rum. He cocked an eyebrow at her and she flushed, realizing she had been looking at him just a few seconds too long. "We have been able to carry them out, but they have never crossed the threshold voluntarily," he added.

"That's strange, don't you think?" She pulled her wand from her pocket and glanced at Lucius questioningly. Working magic in another wizard's home could be a touchy business and it was considered courteous to ask before doing so, but somewhat to her surprise, Lucius simply nodded and gestured to her to proceed. Swiftly she repeated several of the investigative charms Callendar had used, confirming that there was nothing unusual about the goats either physically or magically, nor about the stone or the wood or any other component of the room.

She tapped her wand thoughtfully on her chin. It wasn't possible to _Imperius_ an animal and there was no sign of wards in place, so what was keeping them here? No sign of wards, but perhaps...she raised her wand and murmured, " _Exprome praeses_." She sensed Lucius stiffen instinctively beside her at this overt probing but he stayed silent. All around the doorway -- top, bottom and sides -- a rippling line glowed into view, of the same eye-watering non-colour she had seen in the wards on the gates, and she felt the thrill of having found the first piece of the puzzle. "There! Now, which Malfoy did that come from?"

Her satisfaction was short-lived. "That, Miss Granger," Lucius said dryly, "is part of Benedic Malfoy's mysterious enhancement, the one ward no one can explain. Or break. I fail to see how that will help you."

"I don't know either," she said crossly. "Yet. But at least it's more than we knew before." She pushed past him to examine the rooms on either side but a quick scan told her these too were perfectly normal. "These rooms to the left and right, they haven't changed?" she asked.

"No, not in the slightest. They have been guest rooms as long as I can remember. When my parents were alive the house was often full of visiting friends and family, so they were well used."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "These rooms have never changed. The room with the goats has no magical signature whatsoever. And this doesn't suggest anything to you?"

He shrugged negligently. "My dear Miss Granger, surely it is your job to be told things by empty rooms and goats. For myself, I prefer more lively conversational companions."

"It's a good thing it is my job," she retorted. "Otherwise you'd be having your lively conversations over the odour of goat dung for the rest of your life." The man really was insufferable. "The goat room has no magical signature, therefore its apparent size is also its actual size. If it had really appeared out of nowhere, the rooms on either side would have had to shrink to make room for it. They have not. Therefore, this room has always been here, it's simply been hidden for, well, a lot of years, seemingly. If we can find out when it disappeared from view, maybe that will bring us closer to understanding why it's come back."

He nodded slowly. "Of course. Very logical. Well done, Miss Granger." His voice held an undeniable note of approval. 

Insufferable, she reminded herself firmly.

***

The library at Malfoy Manor was, quite simply, breathtaking. Hermione's research had taken her to fine libraries around the world -- the Bodleian in Oxford, Chateau de Chantilly in France, the Morgan Library in New York City, the Folger in Washington, DC, even the Vatican -- and this compared favourably to all of them. Two-story floor-to-ceiling shelves, the upper ones accessible via a narrow gallery, held an astonishing array of books: leather, vellum and cloth bindings, all shapes and sizes from tomes three inches thick to slim parchment pamphlets. Smaller shelves projected into the room creating private alcoves. Sunlight streamed in through three tall windows spaced equally along the wall and several deep, comfortable chairs were scattered throughout the room, tempting her to settle in for an hour, or an afternoon.

"It is quite a fine collection," Lucius said. "Particularly the manuscripts. Collecting incunabula has been a hobby of several Malfoys through the years." 

Hermione, still standing frozen in the doorway, realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut. "This is amazing. If I lived here I would never leave this room."

"The plans for the house are here." Lucius retrieved a sizable roll of parchment from something that looked like an oversized wine rack and unrolled it on a large table directly in front of one of the windows, weighting the corners with square glass paperweights.

Dragging her attention away from the beckoning acres of books, Hermione looked towards the table. Lucius was leaning over the plans, one arm braced on the table and the other tracing something on the parchment. She noticed for the first time that he had not tied his hair back this morning; it fell forward as he bent lower over the table, and the sunlight shining through it tipped the ends with white gold. She had a sudden flash of how its silky length would brush her face if he were to bend over her like that...

He raised his head and looked at her.

"Right. Yes. Plans." She put all thoughts of Lucius' hair firmly away and came to the table. At the top of the parchment in intricate lettering were the words "Malfoy Manor, 1067-2004," and when she located the second floor hallway, there was the new/old room complete with four tiny images of goats moving about inside.

"These are too recent," she said, disappointed. "We have to go back to the originals, then work our way forward so we can see when the room disappeared."

"These are the originals," Lucius said, sounding somewhat defensive. "And the latest, and everything in between. Any changes in the Manor are reflected instantly, so they are always up to date. My father Abraxas paid the famous wizard architecture firm of Corbel, Fanlight and Architrave three thousand galleons to design and develop them."

"Well, that's no good," she said. Honestly, magic wasn't the solution to everything. "Don't you have any regular plans? Like on paper? The kind that don't change?"

"Muggle plans? For this house? Are you mad?" He stared at her, grey eyes like chips of ice.

Hermione bit back a laugh at his appalled outrage. It was very poor form to laugh at a client. "I hate to break it to you, but in this case five hundred years of unchanging Muggle plans for this house would be ten times more valuable."

"Much as I hate to contradict a lady," he said acidly, his tone clearly suggesting that she was anything but, "these will in fact serve your purpose. Observe."

She watched as he touched the date at the top and with a quick downward flick of his finger, the date at the top began to spin backwards. At irregular intervals, she saw the diagram shift: the room with the goats disappeared immediately, but other lines appeared or disappeared, rooms changed shape, a whole floor vanished. It was fascinating, like watching time run backwards. "What's it doing?" 

"The plans are magically linked to the stones of the Manor, down to the most ancient foundations. They read its history there and display it here." His voice sounded rather smug.

"Very impressive," she admitted. "Look, the room is back!" She reached out and put a hand on Lucius' bare forearm, then dropped it self-consciously. Luckily, he didn't seem to have noticed. "So I was right, it isn't new. Now go forward gradually, and let's see when it disappeared."

Lucius tapped the date once, advancing it a single year, then another and another -- and the room vanished. Hermione glanced at the date: 1665. "All right. So where are these thousand-year-old family journals?"

\--++ooOOoo++--

When his stomach growled for the third time, Lucius dropped the heavy volume he had been poring through (the faded label on the spine read, "May 1665") with a thud. Grimacing, he dusted red rot from his hands and stood up. "I believe it is the usual practice to take some sort of refreshment around midday, even for Unspeakables?" 

Hermione, head bent over another thick, closely-written volume ("June 1665"), made no reply. He watched her for a moment: one elbow propped on the table, her chin in her hand, lips moving silently as she deciphered the cramped handwriting of Philippe Malfoy. She had hardly moved for the past three hours except to fetch the next journal in sequence, and although he would have liked to think that all this effort was for him, he was quite sure that she would have done the same for any client. For some reason he found this obscurely comforting.

He leaned over and laid his hand flat across the page she was reading. "Hermione." 

She raised her head and blinked several times, like a mole coming out into the daylight. "Sorry, what?"

"I can't tell you how flattered I am that you find my ancestors so engrossing, but I think we would both benefit from a break. Shall we have lunch?"

They ate in the garden again. To reach it from the library they had to pass the dining room, and he wondered if it was only his imagination that she paled slightly, though her steps didn't slow. As with dinner the night before, conversation flowed easily but this time her questions were more focused on the Malfoy lineage, and he found himself admiring the agility of her mind and her ability to sift and analyze information. Admittedly, Philippe was one of the more colourful and flamboyant of the Malfoy line, but she seemed fascinated by its sheer continuity.

"To know what your ten-times-great grandfather was doing on this exact day five hundred years ago," she marveled, shaking her head. "I can't imagine what that would be like."

"There is a great deal of security in such a heritage, like a wall at your back. I cannot imagine being without it." He took a sip of the straw-coloured wine. "What you did to protect your parents, Obliviating even their memory of you..." His voice trailed off. It had gnawed at him from the moment he heard the news, a combination of respect for her courage and sick horror at its necessity.

She looked away, her face expressionless. "I did what I had to do to protect them."

"I could not have done such a thing. To cut yourself off, leave yourself rootless, orphaned, alone--" He felt sick at the very thought. 

"I wasn't alone. I had my friends."

"Friends are not family." Even as he said it, he realized the irony of his words and was grateful that she refrained from the obvious rejoinder. It was common knowledge that Narcissa had divorced him and that she and Draco were in France, perhaps permanently. Draco had taken up painting and was, by all accounts, very talented. The Manor had felt almost painfully empty since they left a year ago.

Until the last two days. He did not like to think what that implied about her eventual departure.

***

After lunch they returned to the library to continue their research. Thus far they had found nothing; no mention of vanishing rooms or goats or mysterious shadows, and Lucius was beginning to think they were on the wrong track. Hermione seemed very confident, however, that the answers were here somewhere, and she had been right about the room so he was willing to trust her instincts. 

An hour later he was nearing the end of September (Philippe had consigned four people to the dungeons and produced a record bottle count, but said nothing about goats). He vaguely noticed Hermione rise from her seat with her book and return, presumably with October, but a few minutes later she gave an excited cry.

"I think this might be it! Do you have September?" She came around the table, sliding the heavy journal along with her, and leaned over his shoulder. "Look at the last few days, for the name Alison."

Trying to ignore the distracting sensation of her breasts pressing into his back, Lucius complied, flipping to the last few pages in the book. Alison? So far as he was aware, there was no Alison in the family. A visitor, perhaps? 

"There!" Her finger stabbed at the middle of a paragraph headed "29-IX-1665."

Lucius cleared his throat and began to read from the beginning of the entry:

> _I have sent Luc to his cousins in France. The fool!! How could a son of mine be so stupid? Getting a child on a Muggle woman. I have nothing but contempt for him. If I had another heir he would be dead to me, as dead as his poor mother. Thank the gods she did not live to see this day. He wept like a baby, claiming that he loves her, this Alison Device. Loves her! A Mudblood!! The very thought turns my stomach. Oh, I have seen her and she is pretty enough, though of course nine months gone with child no woman looks her best._

Hermione gave a sarcastic snort and he felt her breath warm on his neck. The sensation was...intriguing. He read on:

> _I have ordered her brought here. If the child lives and is magical, it will remain with us. Not here, of course, and not acknowledged as an heir -- my sister Yvette has been unable to have a child and her desperation may be sufficient to persuade her to take in a bastard Mudblood. If it is Muggle, of course, I care not what becomes of it._

"Well, I can see where you got your charming personality," she remarked. "In mine she's already here at the Manor, so what happened the next day?"

> _30-IX-1665_
> 
> _The house-elves have put her in a bedroom on the second floor. Compared to the hovel from whence she came, I imagine she finds it a palace. I have not seen her. I have no wish to do so. The elves tell me she screams of devils and demons when she sees them; I will have to Obliviate her after the child is born._

There the entry ended. Lucius closed the book, troubled by what he had read for more reasons than one. Philippe's words and attitude were nothing new; Lucius' father Abraxas had shared them, as had he himself not so long ago, but he could sense something worse ahead. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what came next, but Hermione had already opened the October volume and begun to read:

> _2-X-1665_
> 
> _It is nearly midnight. The last two days have been trying in the extreme. I do not understand what has happened; I only hope that what I have done will be enough to repair the damage. Last night Cully woke me to tell me that "something bad" was happening with the woman, Alison. The elves had told me that she had refused to eat or drink since she was brought here but only paced and raved continually, and they feared she might be going mad. When I reached the hallway, strange moving shadows hung heavy in the corners; I could sense a power gathering and hastened to the doorway. Alison stood in the center of the room holding a book open before her, reading from it. (I did not even know she could read -- a Mudblood peasant, who would have guessed? And how did she fasten upon that volume, of all those in the library?) A pale glow of a strange no-colour that hurt my eyes to look upon came from its pages, yet it was familiar to me as my own name: that of our ancestor Benedic's mysterious wards. The words that she spoke were in a language I did not know. It had the cadence of a summoning spell, and over and over came the words "Ia! Shub-Niggurath!"_

Lucius frowned. Shub-Niggurath? The name meant nothing to him, but Hermione raised her head with a peculiar expression on her face. "Shub-Niggurath," she said slowly, "is also known as The Goat with a Thousand Young." She bent her head over the book again.

> _Behind her something I cannot describe was growing. It was not a hole, for a hole leads from one place to another. It was an emptiness. A nothingness. And yet in it, something moved, and I thought I caught a glimpse of yellow slit-pupiled eyes in a vast blackness. I cast a spell that should have felled her instantly, but she only staggered and dropped the book. I rushed in and seized it and slammed it shut, cutting off the light that made my eyes burn and water, and even as I did so she gave a loud cry and collapsed, dead of I know not what._
> 
> _I thought with her death the summoning would be broken but the presence of Shub-Niggurath, if that is who it was, remained. I felt a sickness that nearly unmanned me as I looked upon it, but I took my wand and began to weave a banishing spell. I knew as soon as I began that I would fail; I have never encountered such a force. But as I strove against it, a strange thing happened: from the walls of the Manor itself, the wards came to my aid! Ropes and cables and threads of all colours issued forth, adding their power to mine, last of all the no-colour that had shone from the book and yet which also protects our house. At last, after what seemed like hours, the nothingness shrank to a pinprick which, try as I might, I could not close but which I hope and believe will not permit any evil to pass through._
> 
> _I have known the story of the Manor wards all my life, and have seen my own signature appear in them, but I did not fully credit their power. I do not understand how the same force can both threaten and protect us. I fear to destroy the book as it might also destroy the Manor wards that somehow share its magic. I have returned it to the library, to the bottom shelf in the farthest corner, and hope I never have need to touch it again._

Hermione closed Philippe's journal. "Show me," she said.

Without a word Lucius rose and he heard her footsteps behind him as he walked to the alcove farthest from the door, to the back corner, where she squatted down to peer at the title of the last book on the bottom shelf.

" _Necronomicon_ ," she whispered, and though he didn't know its meaning Lucius felt suddenly cold. She sat back on her heels and looked up at him. "I think I need a drink."

\--++ooOOoo++--

Hermione dropped inelegantly into the same chair as the evening before and accepted a glass of Firewhisky from Rolly. She could sense Lucius' impatience but he asked no questions, a restraint for which she was grateful as it gave her time to corral her racing thoughts into some semblance of order. Of all the things she had thought to encounter here, this was not one of them. She wasn't sure yet how to deal with it, and she didn't like the feeling.

Vaguely she heard Lucius ask Rolly for the _Daily Prophet_ and then there was only the crackle of the fire and the rustle of pages for some time. Finally she sighed and set down her glass. "All right. I have a working theory."

Lucius gave her a mocking half-smile. "The brightest witch of her age has nothing but a theory? I should have expected you to have it fully proven and documented with alphabetical citations by this time."

She shook her head. "When it comes to the _Necronomicon_ there are nothing but theories, the biggest being that it doesn't exist."

Lucius seemed unimpressed. "The Malfoy library contains any number of rare books and manuscripts, many so rare as to have been deemed fictional over the centuries. Why should this one be any different?"

"It's complicated. The Department of Mysteries has always known that it was real, but most people in the Wizarding world have never heard of it. Oddly enough more people in the Muggle world know about it, because it turns up in a whole series of horror stories by a man named Lovecraft." That did raise an eyebrow, she was amused to note. "Shocking, I know. But that's probably precisely why it isn't well-known in the Wizarding world: any rumour of it is dismissed as a Muggle invention."

"Then how...?" He stopped. "Perhaps if you could begin at the beginning, Miss Granger. Pretend, difficult as the task may be, that I am an ignorant First Year, anxious for enlightenment."

"Oh, I don't think I'd have any difficulty with that," she retorted.

To her surprise Lucius laughed outright. "Very well, then, Professor. Begin." He leaned forward, plainly eager to hear what she had to say, and as his grey eyes fixed attentively on her an odd sensation stirred beneath her ribs, making it rather hard to breathe for a moment.

 _Get a grip, Granger_ , she told herself firmly. _Pretend you're Minerva, nothing throws her..._ "The _Necronomicon_ contains a history of the Great Old Ones -- incredibly ancient, powerful beings who may originate outside of our dimension -- and spells for summoning them. Shub-Niggurath, the Goat with a Thousand Young, is one of them. Legend has it that the book was written in the eighth century by an Arab named Abdul al-Hazred, although that's dubious since the name isn't grammatically correct in Arabic. Its original title was _Al Azif_ , an Arabic word for the wailing of the wind, or of demons."

"Was this al-Hazred a wizard?"

"No one knows. He disappeared in Damascus in 738. The book circulated among alchemists and philosophers for the next few centuries and was given the name _Necronomicon_ when it was translated into Greek in 950. Now here's the important part: we know the book was in Constantinople in the eleventh century because it was banned in 1050, after experimentation with it led to some rather horrible results. Supposedly all the copies were burnt, but at least one must have survived."

"And Benedic found a copy and brought it back with him," Lucius finished. His face was thoughtful. "The strange colour in the wards that appeared when he returned from the First Crusade is the same as that described by Philippe as radiating from the book."

"Yes. He must have somehow incorporated the Great Old Ones' magic into the wards for the Manor. That alien magic is clearly what gives the Manor wards their organic nature. Their ability to grow, to absorb and respond to the magic of those in the family."

After a moment Lucius spoke again. "So now we come to Alison. How do you explain a Muggle's ability to use this book?"

Hermione ticked off the possibilities on her fingers. "One: she wasn't a Muggle, but a witch."

"Highly doubtful," Lucius said. "If she had been, Philippe would not have objected so strenuously to her as the mother of his son's heir."

"I agree. Two: she had witch blood somewhere in her family, and the magic-saturated nature of the Manor enhanced it sufficiently to temporarily render her magical. There has never been such a case that I'm aware of, though I can check the archives at St. Mungo's. More importantly, if Alison herself was part of the equation then her death would have ended the summoning, but it didn't. For the same reason we can also discount Three: her unborn child was, or would have been, a powerful witch or wizard, and the _Necronomicon_ was actually responding to it, rather than to her."

Lucius leaned back in the chair and propped one booted foot on the opposite knee. He swirled his Firewhisky gently. "You seem to have exhausted all possibilities, Miss Granger, but I gather from the glint in your eye that you have one more to offer?"

Hermione hesitated. The evidence was circumstantial, but she was sure she was right. "Four: Because the _Necronomicon_ 's magic was already present in the Manor wards, all that was needed was for someone -- anyone -- to speak the words. That was enough to open a channel between the fragments of Dark Magic in the wards and the Outer Darkness, and once opened, the channel became self-sustaining. Alison was simply the conduit."

"Fascinating," Lucius murmured. "You are certain?"

"As certain as I can be without testing it, which I assume you wouldn't want. And I don't think I'd dare," she added. "It clearly took enormous effort by both Philippe and the Manor itself to prevent a catastrophe. And even then they could not close the channel, only block it."

"Benedic's earlier work incorporating the _Necronomicon_ into the wards obviously made that possible, but how?" Lucius shook his head. "I understand it no more than he did."

"I think I do," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Muggle medicine includes something called a vaccination, in which a small amount of something harmful such as a disease or a poison is introduced into a host -- a person -- in order to create a later immunity or resistance to it."

"And you think that's what happened here."

She nodded, feeling a grudging respect for the wizard who had not only dared to use the _Necronomicon_ but somehow bent it to his will, at least partially. "Binding a piece of the Great Old Ones' magic into the wards for the Manor was a remarkable triumph. It should not even have been possible, but he did it."

"The Malfoy name is still one to be proud of, not least for its ancient achievements."

The declaration was swift and arrogant, but in its tone Hermione caught the faintest hint of a plea. _My, my, quite a lot has changed around here_ , she thought. And with that, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place, and she realised that the solution might be beyond her after all.

"And now?" Lucius broke into her thoughts. "The reappearance of the room and the persistence of the goats, which I assume are emanations of Shub-Niggurath, indicate that the barrier constructed by Philippe with the help of the Manor is weakening. Does that mean this resistance is fading? But why, after ten centuries?"

Two days ago she would have relished the idea that she could tell the truth and hurt Lucius Malfoy at the same time, but now? She bit her lip, opting for an oblique approach. "You chose to avoid the dining room for dinner, to spare my feelings. Rolly told me what you did for the house-elves. You've given Draco the freedom to be the man he is instead of the man you wanted him to be. And you've done all this not grudgingly, but willingly."

He merely looked at her blankly, a little discomfited perhaps at being caught out but otherwise clearly at a loss as to her point.

"The _Necronomicon_ is Dark Magic, Lucius. Your entire family is founded on Dark Magic. Threads of it run through every crevice of this house and have for a thousand years. What do you think would happen if you turned away from it?"

His eyes went cold, like chips of flint. "What do you mean, if? Are you suggesting I have not?"

"No," she said gently. "I'm suggesting that you have."

\--++ooOOoo++--

Lucius stared at the witch in front of him as though she'd driven a knife into his chest. He felt as if perhaps she had, and her next words only twisted the blade.

"I believe that your actions over the past few years have gradually but markedly shifted away from that focus on darkness, and thereby created a tiny breach in the Manor wards -- specifically between the wards originating from the _Necronomicon_ and the others." Her words were soft but clear. "That is what has weakened Philippe's barriers. And it appears that this breach is growing."

Her expression should have been triumphant, he thought absently, satisfaction at seeing his frail attempts at recompense thrown back in his face as useless, even dangerous, but all he saw there was kindness. At least there was no pity. He could not have borne that.

He stood up abruptly, his movements rigidly controlled, and leaned on the mantel with his back to Hermione. He did not know what expression was on his face, but he was quite sure he did not want her to see it. "So not only have I betrayed my house once, but in trying to remedy the ill I have destroyed it." He let out a bark of laughter. "How Voldemort would love the irony of this." He took a deep drink of the Firewhisky, relishing its heat because it told him he could still feel.

He heard her get up from the chair and a moment later felt her hand on his arm. "Lucius," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. This isn't what I was expecting when I came. It's like thinking you have a mild case of Spattergroit and finding out it's Bloodfire."

"Or discovering the cure for Bloodfire and finding out it causes something worse," he said bitterly. "I am well and truly caught in a cleft stick, am I not? If I destroy the book --"

"I don't think you could," she said hastily. "Even Fiendfyre might have no effect."

He shrugged. "Regardless. If I destroy the book, it is likely to bring down the Manor around my ears. If I continue along my mended way, the breach will widen until...what? Until there is a gaping hole in the world through which the Great Old Ones will crawl, feasting on the Muggle and the non-Muggle alike? Even I would not wish that on the world." He set his empty glass on the mantel. "My options seem distinctly limited."

"Lucius." The hand on his arm increased its pressure and he reluctantly turned to face her. Incredibly, there were tears in her eyes.

His mouth twisted mockingly. "Tears for a Death Eater, Miss Granger? Potter and Weasley would have your head for that." Involuntarily his hand went up to brush them away.

"Then imagine what they'd think of this," she whispered and pulled his head down into a kiss as fierce and fiery as the whisky he'd just finished, and he was lost to anything but the feel of her lips on his. His arms slid around her, one hand in the small of her back and the other buried in her hair, pressing her close, closer, as though to pull her inside his very skin, and the feel of her fingers twining in his hair sent shudders all through his body.

When they broke apart a moment, or a lifetime, later, the world seemed to have shattered around him and settled back into a strange new pattern. "I...I'm sorry," she said, stepping back and sliding her hands down his arms to grip his fingers tightly. Then she laughed. "No, I'm not. But yes, Harry and Ron really will have six kinds of fits."

All he could think was that if the price of her kiss was in fact the destruction of the world, then he would gladly pay it ten times over. "If this is intended to keep me on my mended way, may I congratulate you on a truly effective strategy?"

"I should hope so," she said. She dropped his hands, then visibly straightened herself back into her official Unspeakable persona. "Business before pleasure. Let's focus on the case at hand. You mentioned two options, one impossible and one, shall we say, unpalatable."

"You have a third?" Lucius felt as though he'd been jerked ten different ways in as many minutes. Curiosity, pride, confusion, bitterness, despair, Hermione in his arms, and now -- beyond all his expectations -- hope?

"If there is a gap, a breach in the wards, then the obvious solution is to close that gap. I propose that we patch it."

"A patch implies a temporary fix," Lucius pointed out. "Much as I might like to defer this problem by a few decades, I find myself reluctant to curse Draco's offspring with the responsibility."

"Of course," she said impatiently. "There's no sense in that. We want a permanent fix. Normally this would not be possible, but I think the uniquely organic nature of the Manor wards will work in our favor. A patch of new magic would be absorbed and become part of the web, able to grow and adapt. If the breach grows, the patch will likewise."

He frowned. "New magic. You are thinking of Draco, perhaps?"

She shook her head decisively. "No. His magic is already part of the mix so adding more won't fix anything, and the same goes for anyone else in the Malfoy family. We need a new element, one that can bridge the existing wards with their history of Dark magic and the changes you've made. Something that can connect to both."

Even as the last words left her mouth he knew what was in her mind. "No," he said.

"Lucius --"

"I said no. You were sent to investigate a mystery. You have done so, and you have found the cause. It is not your responsibility to fix it personally." Was it possible to hold two completely contradictory beliefs? His pride in the Malfoy name, its power and heritage, was undiminished by learning that Darkness was an integral part of it. At the same time, he instinctively rejected the thought of her brightness attempting to touch that Darkness, let alone bond with it.

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, looking for all the world like Minerva McGonagall. "Well, guess what? You don't have a choice."

"I beg your pardon? I am still -- for the moment -- master of this house. I have every choice."

"You contacted the Department of Mysteries. You accepted the assignment of an agent. You admitted that agent onto your premises in order to execute her official duties. Unless and until that agent deems the issue resolved, all aspects of the case remain under the jurisdiction of the Department's designated agent. Namely: me."

A vision flashed into his mind of her body writhing in agony on the floor of the Manor, Bellatrix crouching over her, and sudden fury rose in him. He seized her by the shoulders. "Don't you understand?" he roared. "I want no more of your pain on my conscience!!"

His words seemed to take her aback, and taking advantage of her momentary discomposure he dropped into the chair, glaring furiously into the fire.

There was silence for a long moment, and then she was there in front of him, on her knees, taking his hands in hers. "Lucius, you know the motto of the Department of Mysteries: _Vitam impendere lucem_ \-- to stake one's life for the light. Those aren't just words. This is what we do, what I do. We take risks, in order to make things right. I'm glad that I can do this for you, but I would do this for any client. You need to know that."

The tension ran out of him like sand from a broken hourglass. "I of all people should know how strong you are, and how little right I have to -- well. Your actions are your own to choose, of course. But I could wish that they did not force you into contact with more Dark Magic than you have already had to endure."

She touched a hand to his cheek. "There's Darkness everywhere, in all of us. Dumbledore..." She hesitated, then plunged on, "Sometimes I'm glad that Dumbledore's dead, because I don't know if I could ever forgive him for how brutally he used all of us, Harry and Professor Snape most of all. I know that we wouldn't have won without it, but still." She gave him a crooked smile. "I'll stick with risking my own life for the light, not other people's."

She held his gaze until at last he nodded once, sharply, knowing even as he did so that if it all went wrong, there would be no forgiveness for him this side of death.

\--++ooOOoo++--

The light from the room where the goats munched stolidly had taken on a sickly hue; if light could be black, it might look like that, Hermione thought.

She sat cross-legged on the floor just outside the door and motioned Lucius to a spot in front of her. "Sit here."

He lowered himself to the floor, and it struck her how like an arctic fox he was, graceful and pale and sharp-featured. _I suppose that explains my dreams_ , she thought ruefully, and then _Good thing he's not a Legilimens..._

She cleared her throat. _Focus, Granger_. "Since I'm not a member of the family I can see the wards but I can't interact with them on my own. I'll need you to work with me to patch my magic in." 

Lucius nodded, his face a tight-drawn mask. She knew that he was on edge, concerned for her safety, but confidence was flowing through her like Firewhisky and she was running on adrenalin now. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

She conjured the wards into view with a practiced flick of her wand. "I need to locate your signature in the wards, and then follow it down to where it links to the ones Benedic put in place using the _Necronomicon_. That's where we'll find the breach."

"You assume."

"Unspeakables don't assume, they know," she said reprovingly. "When we reach it, I'll weave the patch, and then we'll work together to tie it in. Since it's not a ward, simply a neutral presence, it shouldn't pose a problem. Oh, and I've removed the Ministry's restrictions on your wand," she added almost as an afterthought. "Permanently." That had taken some fast talking on her part and a lot of her accumulated credibility capital, but in the end Alex had agreed.

Lucius eyed her suspiciously. "The magic required to trace the wards is minimal. Why would you do that?"

"Well, we don't know how much power it will take, do we?" she said lightly. "Small patch, small magic; big patch, big magic."

He narrowed his eyes for a long moment. "You're not telling me everything."

"I don't know everything," she said patiently. "Are you ready?"

He nodded once, sharply, then leaned across the distance between them to put a hand behind her head and pull her to him for a leisurely, exploratory kiss that left her (and him, if she could judge anything by his breathing) desperately wanting more. "Good luck," he said with a faint smile.

She grinned at him. "Don't worry. You asked for the best, remember?"

Elementary ward-viewing, such as Hermione had done on the gates, was a relatively simple skill but was done visually and gave on only an external view. Her task now demanded ward-walking, traveling the wards themselves like pathways. " _Ambulate praeses_ ," she said, and closed her eyes. 

It was like being in a forest, or (more prosaically) buried in a plate of multicoloured spaghetti. Most of the wards were shades of green, as she had seen at the gates, though other colors flickered and twisted about her as well. Despite their common color, at this level she could easily distinguish the hundreds of unique signatures, not only different shades but also a range of patterns that flowed and changed: moire, simple stripes, complicated braids and knotwork. A snippet of deep emerald-green ribbon striped in delicate silver came into her field of view and came to rest over a strand that she saw matched it exactly. Lucius, she realized, guiding her to his signature in the wards. 

She concentrated on moving towards it. Her own appearance, she knew from the Unspeakable who had trained her, was deep scarlet with gold rosettes, and that was what Lucius would be "seeing." In reality, neither of them had any hands or even any physical being here, and had she not been accompanied by someone the wards recognized they would have expelled her, violently and perhaps fatally. With Lucius as her warrant, they would accept her presence. She realised that she had quite literally put herself in his hands, and was amused at how little that bothered her. Ron and Harry really will have six fits.

When she reached Lucius' signature ward, the green ribbon began to move away from her along it, slowly and then more swiftly as she kept pace and did not fall behind. Deeper and deeper they wound into the heart of the Manor's deepest protections, and gradually the other colours disappeared. The green around her shifted and changed, dark to light, sea-green to grass-green to a forest-green that was nearly black, but her guide stayed just ahead of her.

At last after what seemed like hours, she sensed the junction with Benedic's wards approaching. From the outside these wards had been a peculiar non-colour, difficult to focus on and quease-inducing. Here, grown to the size of a broad path, their strangeness was almost overwhelming, making her head pound and her stomach roll unpleasantly. Lucius' avatar stayed close to her and they moved slowly forward together. Despite the nausea Hermione felt a surge of vindication a moment later as she saw the gaping tear like a wound where Lucius' signature and Benedic's joined together.

Taking a deep breath and focusing her concentration tightly on the work at hand, Hermione began to weave. Anyone standing in the hall of the Manor would have seen her hands moving in graceful arabesques and spirals; here in the wards, streamers of red spotted with gold rosettes appeared, drifting on invisible currents. Each one she caught and bound with the others until she had a lacy tapestry of a size that would cover the gap with enough to spare on either side to anchor it. By the end her head was throbbing painfully and her stomach felt as though something with large feet had kicked it repeatedly.

Now came the risky part -- the part she had not explained to Lucius. Temporary wards were cast and removed all the time, as she and Ron and Harry had done while on the run during their Seventh Year, but permanent wards were a different story -- particularly those which had been added to over centuries and were therefore ancient and powerful. Like Hogwarts. Or Malfoy Manor. Normally the maintenance and patching of such wards was done extremely cautiously, and only by those whose signatures had been present for a considerable time. Up to this point her presence had not been intrusive. She had no idea what would happen when her patch touched the existing wards. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought fatalistically, and guided the patch gently forward.

The moment the red-gold threads touched the tear in the wards, they convulsed violently. Hermione saw the emerald ribbon that was Lucius hurled into a thick cluster of Benedic's wards and thought she heard a shout of pain. She managed to catch her weaving before it sailed away and slapped it back into place, but the wards continued to fight her. She struggled to hold the patch in place, but she couldn't do that and bind the edges at the same time. She had lost sight of Lucius -- was he still with her? An especially vicious jerk sent a secondary ward slashing towards her and she cried out in pain as it struck her. A feather-touch of fear brushed her. Had she taken on more than she was ready for? Another thread sliced across her and she clenched her teeth, forcing down her fear and stretching the lace over the gap...and then everything went still.

Gasping, she looked around for the explanation. Lucius was moving slowly along the edges of the patch, so low he was touching it, and as he brushed the surface the red-gold, the green and the strange no-colour wards blurred and melded. Hermione watched in amazement. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this. Ward-mending as she had been taught was like sewing, a manual job of stitching together the pieces. These seemed to be actually growing together, assisting in their own repair! Quickly she began to work to reinforce the natural healing with intentional but stronger links, to hold the fragile new bonds until they had had time to strengthen.

Moments later she carefully released the last of her stitches, and watched as Lucius drifted free. As he lost contact with the patch, the green and alien wards quivered and twitched for a moment, like a horse's skin twitching off flies, and then settled into stillness. 

\--++ooOOoo++--

Lucius stood in the doorway of the Manor. The night was blue and still, and there was neither hide nor hair of goats anywhere on the Manor grounds. They had vanished almost immediately, and the room had sealed itself off shortly thereafter. He looked down at the brown-eyed witch in front of him and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. He knew it could only be his imagination, but he seemed to already feel her presence winding its way through the Manor's wards, the same way she had wound herself around his heart. 

"Come to dinner," he said. It was not a question. 

"Day after tomorrow?" she asked, her eyes full of all the things she had not yet had time to say to him.

"Tomorrow. I can't wait any longer than that."

"Tomorrow," she agreed with a smile.

He watched her walk away, already eager for her to return.

\--++ooOOoo++--

The next night Hermione Apparated in front of the gates to Malfoy Manor. She wore dress robes of a red velvet as dark as a ruby, or heart's blood, but light scattered on the tiny gold rosettes embroidered around the hem. 

No one came to meet her. She flicked her wand and murmured the words to bring the wards glowing into rainbow life. Even at this level, she could easily identify Lucius' signature amongst all the others. She stood quietly as the wards brightened to an almost unbearable intensity and seemed to bend towards her. For a brief moment she thought she caught a glimmer of red and gold in their depths, and then the great gates swung silently open for her.

She stepped forward down the walkway towards the house, and the wards closed behind her as gently as an embrace. Where once she had been brought unwillingly, frightened and resisting, her steps now were confident and quick, and her heart held nothing but eager anticipation.


End file.
